The Oblivious Partner
by Semi-Retired Writer
Summary: Sickdays 4.0 prompt fill! Peter has the stomach flu. Tony's not the most attentive. Emeto warning.


**The Oblivious Partner**

Running laps wasn't Peter's favorite part of training with Tony, but it wasn't like he didn't enjoy it anyway. It was as good an excuse as any to pop in his earphones and listen to music or podcasts. Plus, it _was_ cool to finally be able to run at his full speed instead of holding back like in gym class. For some reason, it made Mr. Wilson angry when Peter passed him—especially if he gave the guy a verbal warning—but it made Mr. Rogers laugh, and Tony never minded being outrun by a genetically-enhanced teenager. He'd just wave a greeting and keep going at his own human pace unbothered.

Tony wanted him to train every week, but he'd called off last week when May finally got a full weekend off of work and wanted to spend time together. The week before that, he'd been healing from an unfortunate stab from the line of duty.

He hadn't felt his best for the past few days, but three weeks of ditching in a row probably wouldn't fly with Tony, not when it wasn't even _that_ bad. He just felt a bit off, a little slower. He had a low fever and he undoubtedly couldn't perform as well, but he could deal.

He'd held out a flicker of hope that Tony would make it one of those "screw it" days, where he decided on the fly that their time could be better spent in the lab. It was dumb, though. Of course, he wouldn't want to do that after Peter skipped the last two weeks. The disappointment still sank into his stomach when Tony led him to the outdoor training area and then to the track.

Sighing to himself when he didn't think Tony would hear, he made his way to a lane and started out slow. It was only when Tony was outrunning him that he pushed himself to go faster, not wanting to be shown up by someone who didn't even have super-muscles to help him out, especially when that someone was a person he thrived on impressing.

The competition kept his mind occupied for a while. He didn't think about how he felt until it suddenly got worse several laps in, probably thanks to the workout if he was being honest.

He wasn't "a bit off" anymore. A headache so slight that it hadn't been on his radar earlier was now pounding away behind his eyes, and the warm sweat that he'd built up from the light workout turned to ice in an instant. It was enough to make him shiver violently and stumble to the side. The sinking in his stomach was back, and he got the distinct impression that it was a warning. Only a moment later, his hunch was backed up by a gag that came out of nowhere.

Willpower alone couldn't save him now. His stomach forcing its way into his throat made blindly pushing through laps an unbearably uncomfortable option, if he could call that an option at all. He stopped without warning Tony and fell to his knees along the edge of the track. That was all the permission his stomach needed to bring up all it had in the grass loudly enough to get Tony's attention.

"Okay! Whoa, okay. You're fine, you're alright," Tony soothed. He'd come closer at some point while Peter was distracted by blood rushing through his ears and breakfast flying from his mouth. "Geez, kid. Just _tell_ me when I'm pushing you too hard. I know this isn't your best, but there's no shame in that. We all have off days."

Peter whimpered through the last of the nausea, torn. Which was worse? Lying to Tony by going along with the ready-made excuse or admitting he was too stupid to ask for a day off when he was undeniably sick?

Tony didn't give him time to answer anyway. He never did; the tabloids may spread a lot of factual tidbits about him, but none of them had warned him how excitable the man could get in private conversations. He bowled right over Peter's attempt to explain, and was it even important enough to try again? He'd be fine if they just stopped running. God, no more running, please.

"Alright, let's slow down. We can try again tomorrow. You good? You're good. Walk it off. One lap to cool down, and then we'll take it easy in the lab for the rest of the day, okay?"

He let Tony pull him to his feet and didn't bother fighting him on that last lap. At least it wasn't more running.

He'd kill to simply go back to bed and sleep away the rest of the day, but Tony didn't give him that option. No, he dragged Peter straight to the lab, no time for a short break, no chance to brush his teeth, nothing. Directly asking for a break was a failure as well.

"Uh, Mr. Stark?"

"What have I told you, kid? It's Tony! Thought we were over this," he joked. Then, he was launching into an excited but long-winded explanation of his current project, and Peter never got a chance to ask for that break.

It wasn't like he wasn't interested. He'd be on the edge of his seat any other time, eager to know all about anything Tony Stark was working on, and that went double when he was being given the chance to collaborate. He just couldn't deal with it today of all days, not with the lingering headache or the nausea working its way through him.

His stomach gave him enough warning to stand up from the table mid-speech but not enough to escape, so all he could do was double over as a retch wracked his body. _Not here_ , he desperately thought and convinced his legs into a few more haphazard steps. _Definitely here_ was his body's response. Still not recovered from earlier, all that came with the next retch was a bitter mouthful of bile that ended up on the lab floor despite his best efforts.

He had no idea what Tony had been talking about, but he distinctly heard him cut off mid-syllable and drop something metallic on the table while the legs of his stool scraped loudly over the tile.

Tony muttered something too quietly for him to pick up. He assumed it was aimed toward him until FRIDAY answered with what he was sure was a diagnosis considering how much of it matched up with how he felt. He'd jokingly blame FRIDAY for ratting him out if he wasn't so relieved at the prospect of finally being allowed to rest.

"Stomach flu, huh? And you couldn't have said so _before_ I loaded you up with work?"

And yeah, maybe—no, definitely—they needed to discuss their mismatched communication styles, but he really, really didn't want to do that right now. He answered with a dry heave, and Tony seemed to get the message.


End file.
